


The Right Questions

by Achia626



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon Divergence - The Great Game, Canon Related, Friendship/Love, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Post-Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy, We Just Love Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25218082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achia626/pseuds/Achia626
Summary: A slight change to John Watson's character where he always seems to ask questions that are right on the mark. This leads into TGG aftermath where Sherlock and John have a small heart to heart.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	The Right Questions

Sometimes, Sherlock realised after a few weeks of spending time in John's company, John is just on the left of asking the right questions. Though his flatmate is quite subtle about it, and much more affable than Sherlock ever is on a crime scene, he tends to ask questions that somehow are always right at the end of the case. Questions even he would dismiss as irrelevant. 

One key example is when they first met on the case and John had asked Lestrade, "Is it an English name?" when they were contemplating what the writing on the ground could be. It was, and he was right.

This was after he had remarked that the victim seemed to have come from somewhere away from the metropolitan London area, long before Sherlock deduced the victim was from Cardiff. 

The next telling question he asked was, "Which one is it we're watching?" when they were spying in Angelo's and getting to know each other. 

Sherlock hadn't caught onto that, too busy trying to catch what he suspected was the killer that he didn't see the answer in front of him. In the midst of his thoughts, brooding over the mystery that was John Watson and his questions, the telly caught his attention again. It was annoying how obviously fake it was as he shouted at it one more time. He'd tuned out John for awhile but came back when his flatmate asked him an important question. 

"...Carl Powers, children hostages, and your brother's top secret ultra important information case. Three out of four are a part of your weaknesses. Is it really a game for you two, or is he pushing your most vulnerable pressure points?" John asks. 

John hovered around Sherlock longer than most and while, yes, the great consulting detective remained aloof and obtrusive as ever on this particular case, the doctor noted a spark of hidden worry underneath the surface of Sherlock's facade. He could see frustration, panic at nearly losing, and a bit of floundering (something John rarely ever sees) behind cold, steel grey eyes. 

Sherlock reflects on this and wonders what John is on about. Though he does seem to understand where he's going with it. "The man is targeting me." He says instead of snarking at the man. 

"Oh, yes, cause you're the greatest detective in the world." There is no irony behind John's words. "You're not even going to go find him? You're just sitting there watching crap telly like the mad man's just gonna invite himself in."

"If he wants to engage, he will." 

"Sherlock." 

Sherlock huffs, glaring at his flatmate. "What? What would you rather have me do? I don't have any clues on how to find him. Would you like me to run myself ragged on a wild goose chase?" 

John bites his bottom lip. He knows Sherlock is right, and he doesn't want a repeat of a previous argument and sighs. "I'm going out to Sarah's. Won't be home for the night. There's some risotto left in the fridge, oh, and we're nearly out of milk." 

When it's time for Sherlock to meet with Moriarty at the pool, John is revealed with a giant green parka on. Sherlock immediately goes back to John's comments about targeting his weak points. 

Did John know? No, he was a doctor. He wouldn't really be capable of-

"What would you like me to make him say next?" John grits out monotonously. He's shaking, and he hates it as he solemnly stares up at Sherlock. 

Arms up, straight back, eyes forward. Don't give yourself away Watson, focus on what's in front of you. Sherlock's about to die, oh God, he's terrified. Reassure him, say something, do something! John swallows, subtly blinking code at Sherlock as he's talking. 

Moriarty never takes notice. He's too focused on leering over Sherlock. John hates it. He hates the man as a criminal, hates Sherlock for cowering to this scum of the earth, and most of all, hates himself for being played like the fool he was. He notes that even though there's a sniper on him, there isn't one trained on Sherlock, and if there was one, they wouldn't be taking aim unless Moriarty signalled them to do so. So there was still a window of opportunity to save Sherlock. 

There is an opening, when Moriarty is close enough for John, and he lunges, seizing Moriarty by the throat as he hollers for Sherlock to run. 

He doesn't, and when the interaction is over, John is left to pick up the pieces. Literally. He is left to drag an unconscious Sherlock and himself out of the pool, and out of the building despite there being a very large gash on his leg. He thinks he sees bone. Definitely not psychosomatic this time. Sherlock, despite being skinny and a stick most of the time, is still a sopping, heavy lump for John as he's hauling his flatmate over his shoulder like a rag doll. With only one leg working, he gets as close as he can to the entrance of the pool, half limping, half dragging whatever he can to keep moving and though there's no longer debris falling, the air is still dense and barely discernable for John. Or maybe that was just the blood loss? Whatever the case was, he only got as far as a few hundred feet outside the pool entrance before he finally let's himself collapse with Sherlock laying on top of him.

When Sherlock comes to, he is in a moving ambulance, tucked into a stretcher and blearily sits up. He's told to lie down and rest, but the consulting detective shakes his head and asks in a raspy voice, "Where's John?" 

"He was taken to the hospital in a separate ambulance. Sir, how are you feeling?" 

Sherlock clears his throat and says, "Like a man who's swallowed too much pool water after a bomb's gone off." Though it doesn't have as much bite as it should have. 

The paramedics nod and push him to lie back down on the stretcher. "You should rest sir. We'll be at the hospital in just a few moments." 

Sherlock barely protests and when his head hits the bed, he's out like a light and doesn't wake up for a very long while. 

When he does, John is sitting next to him with leg in a cast, a line of saline attached to his arm, and a wheelchair next to him. They're both wearing identical patient drabs but the difference between them is that John's smiling and actually looks comfortable in it, while Sherlock looks a bit too thin in his. 

"Morning." 

Sherlock grumbles, sitting up. "Is it?" 

"No, it's evening now." John reaches over and taps the button to call a nurse in. "You've slept for a good eighteen hours. That's more than what you usually get in a week."

"Oh." Sherlock says, then furrows his brows. "Are you sure you should be out and about? Doesn't seem like something a proper doctor like you would advise yourself to do after, oh, I don't know, surviving a bomb?" 

"It's ill-advised yes." John laughs, though he's holding Sherlock's hand in a vice like grip. Sherlock hadn't even noticed it until now, and stared down at their conjoined hands. 

"John?" Sherlock asked, confused by the action. "Is there something wrong?" 

That was when the nurse came into their curtained cubicle. "Good evening, gentlemen. I see you're finally awake Mr. Holmes. Well, the doctor's currently on break, but once he comes back, we'll be sure to give you a full check-up so we can get you up and about as soon as possible. Is there anything I can get you folks?" Perky, and overly friendly for Sherlock's liking. 

John didn't say anything, or rather, he was unable to at the moment, and that alarmed Sherlock more than anything else. 

Sherlock snaps at the nurse, "A bit of privacy might be appreciated."

John looks up, quickly smiling at the nurse, "Sorry, he's like that with everyone. Thank you for offering your assistance, but we don't need anything right now until the doctor arrives." 

The nurse, unfazed and quite used to rude patients, simply nodded with a smile. They did feel bad for the smaller blond for having to put up with such behaviour as they left the pair to themselves. 

When the nurse is gone, Sherlock turns his attention back to John, who is still holding his hand so hard, his knuckles are white. 

He's never seen John look that way before. "John?" He tentatively asks his flatmate.

As Sherlock waits for a response, he watches for John's reactions. The way the man clenches his jaw, the breathing of his chest, and the shifting of his body in his seat. He wonders if the veteran realises how much more he reveals himself in his silences. 

Finally, the man speaks. "You could have run. When I told you to, you know." John says quietly, not daring to look up at Sherlock. 

Sherlock's heart suddenly drops in his chest. He is about to speak, object his flatmate's assumptions, scream how there was no bloody way he could have abandoned his only friend to the hands of an insane criminal, but he stops himself. He is reminded of John's question from before the confrontation. 

"Is it really a game or is he pushing your most vulnerable pressure points?"

What's the right answer to refusing to let your flatmate get blown up, and accidentally exposing yourself to him? The five pips had been a good distraction for Sherlock, but John had gotten hurt in the middle of it. Even though he finally got used to John tagging along, and he only just managed to wrap his head around the older blond not leaving, there was still a part of him that knew something might go wrong if they kept it up. Despite his paranoia, he and John got closer in their work partnership and friendship. He's never had that before. He didn't know then if he ever wanted to let that go. 

He licks his lips and responds just as quietly, "You would have died immediately if I had. The risk of you dying was not worth the valiant efforts on your part." 

Suddenly it dawns on John that when he became the last pip in the game, he had unknowingly been revealed as Sherlock's weakest spot. Meaning that no matter how much Sherlock could brush off being apathetic and uncaring to the world around him, he at least cared enough about one person to throw his life away for. 

"Oh my God, you're an idiot." John says, combing a hand through his hair, realising how terribly wrong he was on everything he'd been assuming. "I'm not your weakest pressure point."

"What?"

"I mean, no, I am, aren't I? Shut up for a second, let me process this." John lays his head in their entangled hands. 

His head is warm, Sherlock thinks, and wonders if that's a good thing. He then asks for the second time, "Are you alright John?" 

John sighs, peeking out of their hands. "Why don't you just say I love you? Why do you subject yourself to these melodramatic scenes and then never, just once, come out and say what you really mean?" 

Sherlock blinked owlishly at him, his mind popping out of its bubble. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean." His face felt flushed, and he turned away in his embarrassment. 

"You care. Not only that, you love me."

"You seem to know more than you let on." Sherlock grumbles, crossing his arms. 

John nuzzles into Sherlock's side, hiding his smile. "I don't. I just ask the right questions." 

Sherlock let that statement sink into his mind palace. "And what is your opinion on that?" He's waiting for his flatmate to scowl at the idea of homosexuality as he's always done in the past to others. 

John doesn't even bother to hesitate. "I love you too. Nothing on this Earth can change that fact." 

"Are you sure? You were very adamant about not conforming to a certain sexuality." 

"Yea, still not gay, but unconditional love is far better than that, don't you think?" John sheepishly smiles while looking up to Sherlock's suddenly soft look. 

Sometimes, Sherlock grins warmly when he realizes this, it's not always about knowing the right answer, it's about the questions that lead to them.

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic of the series, feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Thanks!


End file.
